


What Am I To You?

by RedShirtWriter34567



Category: Mad to Be Normal (2017), Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Awkwardness, Caught, Coitus Interruptus, First Meetings, Hand Jobs, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Making Out, Prison Sex, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24941677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedShirtWriter34567/pseuds/RedShirtWriter34567
Summary: Martin and Ronald are caught by Martin's son Malcolm in an awkward encounter.
Relationships: R. D. Laing/Martin Whitly
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	What Am I To You?

“Ronald, back to see me already?” Martin smiled, his eyes flashing teasingly as he leaned back in his desk chair. 

“It’s been awhile, Dr. Whitly,” Ronald Laing replied, sauntering around behind the red line on the floor. “I’ve been busy but I finally had some free time.” He licked his lips, noticing the way the killer’s eyes followed the movement. “I wanted to see you.”

Martin wiggled in his chair at that. He’d been wondering, hoping, for Ronald to return to him. He turned his chair more, facing Ronald directly. He was still tethered but had his handcuffs removed for once.

“I’ve wanted to see you too, Ronnie,” Martin said. “Do we have our privacy?”

“Yes,” Ronald answered. “We shouldn’t be interrupted.”

“Excellent.” Martin uncrossed his legs and patted his lap. “Come here, Ronnie.”

The Scotsman obeyed and crossed the red line. He settled himself into Martin’s lap, hands clasped at the nape of his neck. Martin’s hands gripped his hips, just tight enough to show his dominance. Ronald stared into those blue-grey eyes, which were growing darker now that he was closer.

“Kiss me, Ronnie,” Martin commanded, softly.

The other man obeyed, pressing his lips deftly against the older man’s. Martin opened his mouth as Ronald’s tongue touched the seam of his lips, granting him access. He wrapped his arms fully around Ronald’s waist, pulling his body flush against his own. Their tongues met and began exploring passionately. Ronald laced his hands through Martin’s curls, moaning into the kiss as the older man’s beard scratched against his sensitive skin.

‘He’s a great kisser for a serial killer,’ Ronald thought to himself.

It was true. Martin kissed like he killed-methodic, calculated. His tongue seemed to explore the whole of Ronald’s mouth, tracing his teeth and the roof of it. He would occasionally bite or nibble on Ronald’s lower lip, sometimes even tug on on it slightly. It made Ronald’s cock twitch in his slacks, even more so when Martin’s hands slipped from his waist down to his ass, squeezing and kneading it through his pants.

“I love the way you touch me, Dr. Whitly,” Ronald gasped. “With the same hands you’ve killed with you hold me with, fuck me with so I can take your cock.”

“Ronald,” Martin growled, kissing him sloppily. “Fuck, you taste so good.”

He ceased his groping of Ronald’s ass and reached up with one, tugging Ronald’s head back by his gelled hair. The Scot hissed in pain and pleasure as Martin kissed his throat, tugged on the pale flesh to leave his marks there, his beard rasping against the skin. His other hand began unbuttoning Ronald’s shirt, caressing a nipple as the fabric was pushed aside.

“Martin,” Ronald moaned, grinding his clothed erection against Martin’s thighs. “Fucking Christ.” His accent was getting thicker the more aroused he became. 

Martin smirked against the man’s neck, biting down onto a patch of flesh and worrying it between his teeth. Ronald yelped at the sensation, only to moan as Martin deftly undid his slacks and reached inside, stroking him through his underwear. Ronald was moaning and gasping, pushing his hips into Martin’s hand as he stroked him. Martin was moaning as well, enjoying the sight of how debauched Ronald was looking. The two were so caught up in each other that they didn't hear the cell door being unlocked and opened.

“Dr. Whitly, I require your assistance with another case and-What the fuck?” 

Ronald and Martin both jumped in surprise. Ronald fell off Martin’s lap to the floor, groaning in pain as he did. He rolled over onto his stomach and stood up, glaring at the man who’d entered the room. He looked young, with neat hair and blue eyes, dressed crisply in a suit and tie. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth hanging open as his face turned red.

“Malcolm,” Martin said, his normally calm tone now a little rocky. “I-I wasn’t expecting you, my boy.”

This was Martin’s son, Malcolm Bright, criminal profiler for the NYPD? Ronald fought the urge to blush as he zipped up his slacks and buttoned his shirt again, trying to look presentable despite his mussed hair, slick, swollen lips and the bites dotting his neck. Martin crossed his leg over the other, trying to look nonchalant despite the circumstances. None of them spoke until Martin tried to break the ice.

“Malcom, I-I...This is difficult to explain,” he said, wringing his hands. “This is Ronald Laing and he’s my-”

“I have to go,” Malcolm blurted before his father could finish. 

He hastily turned around and practically bolted from the room, letting the guard shut it it behind him.

“Malcolm!” Martin called after him. “Please, my boy!”

Malcolm didn’t look back. He vanished from view and Martin sighed, scrubbing his hands across his face.

“Well, that could’ve gone better,” he muttered. 

“Indeed,” Ronald agreed. “What were you going to call me?”

“What do you mean?” Martin asked. 

“What were going to call me when you introduced me?” Ronald asked. “What am I to you. Martin?”

For once in his life, Martin was speechless.

“I-I’m not sure,” he admitted. “What am I to you, Ronald?”

“I don’t know,” Ronald replied. “But I think I should go now.”

He left the cell without another word, not knowing why he was feeling so angry all of a sudden.


End file.
